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Wednesday, April 30, 2014

Cheryl stood in the center of the red
design painted on the studio floor, considering the place where she’d devoted
so much time and energy over the past two years. Looking down at the carrier
tube under her arm, she thought about the painting rolled inside. Was it
enough? It had to be. It was time to cast the curse.

With a shrug, she held the bottle
of turpentine at arm’s length and tilted it upside down, walking toward the
door. When the bottle was empty, she dropped it behind her without a backward
glance.

Stepping over empty beer and
liquor bottles, and an almost-artistic array of red Solo cups, she stopped next
to the living room table and tipped over the last standing vodka bottle,
watching the scant remains dribble across the table and drip onto the stained
carpet. Empty pizza boxes and a KFC carton overflowing with bare chicken bones
covered the low table.

Cheryl reached down and picked up
a handful of bones, dropping them on the table and nodding as she studied them.
She glanced up at Jonathan, sprawled motionless on the couch, and Carolyn,
curled in the La-Z-Boy. “You really should have known,” she admonished them. “It’s
all there in the bones.”

At the door, she picked up the
fake ID Jonathan had delivered this afternoon. Studying it, she smiled. Looking
back at him, she said with a laugh, “Really? Cherry Cotton? Funny, Jonathan.
Hilarious.”

The name didn’t matter, only the
coding on the magnetic strip. Magic didn’t work well on technology. Tucking it
into her bra strap, she frowned. Her mother’s voice whispered in her ear, “The
day always goes better with a matching bra and panties.” Black bra, pink
panties. She hadn’t bothered with laundry this week. Sorry, Maman. I’ll have to take my chances.

She struck a wooden match on the
side of the little box. Leaning down, she tucked it upright into the box as it
sputtered down and set it in a puddle of vodka that stretched over from the
living room carpet. Shouldering the art canister, she picked up her keys and
swung them around.

Waiting to make sure the match did
its job, she considered Jonathan and Carolyn once more. “Thanks, you guys.
You’ve been a big help. Sorry I can’t stay. Places to go, masterpieces to
steal, curses to cast, and all that.”

She shrugged as the matches
sputtered and burst into flame. Turning on her worn heel, she pulled open the
door, carefully locking it behind her. Looking down the hallway, she heard
voices on the landing. Collateral damage?

She cocked her head to the side,
considering. No, she could pass by them without being seen. She waved her hands
from her head down to her feet, erasing herself from sight, and walked toward
the stairs.

Rachel sipped her coffee, leaning
against Nazu and watching the hotshot OB surgeon in the operating theater
below. She kept trying to refocus Nazu’s attention away from her neck and back
to the doctor they had come to observe.

A trio of interns interrupted his exploration of her neck
and ear when they burst into the darkened observation deck. In the sudden
bright light, Rachel knew without looking that Nazu’s eyes would blaze gold,
his inner light revealed. He glowered without speaking at the young doctors.
They stared for a split second, then looked away and shuffled out the door with
mumbled apologies. Nazu waved his hand as the door closed, and Rachel heard the
lock thud into place.

“A little late for that, isn’t it?”
she teased.

“Better late than never,” he
mumbled, returning his attention to the curls at the back of her neck.

“Nazu, really, you should watch
this guy. I think we should recruit him. What do you think?”

“If you think so, I am sure we
should,” he mumbled against her skin.

“Seriously, Nazu. Watch him.”

“I don’t have to. I already know
he’s the right one. I’d much rather watch you.”

Rachel pushed him away with a
laugh. “Come on. They’re closing up. Let’s catch him before he leaves.”

As they approached John McNamara
in the hall outside the OB unit, Rachel realized she wasn’t the least bit
intimidated by the thought of meeting one of the top-ranked OB surgeons in the
country – the newest star in Mercy Hospital’s roster. The butterflies she would
have felt just a year ago, as a newly minted nurse transplanted from Boston,
had completely flown from her stomach. Apparently dealing with demons made human
doctors less intimidating.

She smiled at the thought as they neared
McNamara. Nazu, ever attuned to her, turned to catch her smile and arched a
brow. She laughed aloud, and McNamara looked up at them. The smile on Rachel’s
face was replaced by surprise, and she shot her own glance toward Nazu, in time
to catch his own smug smile. She turned back to McNamara and held out her hand.

As she made introductions and he
started talking with Nazu, she stared at his eyes. His pupils weren’t black.
They were dark purple. Most people would dismiss it as a trick of the light.
Rachel knew better. She’d seen eyes like that before. McNamara had demon blood.

Rachel surreptitiously searched
McNamara’s neck and wrists for any sign of silver. She felt the frisson down
her back. She knew why Nazu wanted to recruit McNamara. More than their need
for help in the neonatal unit. McNamara didn’t know what he was. Had he ever
seen any signs? A full-grown poltok demon rampaging through Mercy would be a
Very. Bad. Thing.

Monday, April 28, 2014

I’ve had the same dream every
night for the past 2,692 nights. Leaving the bar, high fives and fist bumps and
chest hugs, grabbing the keys back from Alex. Swerving from the construction
cones that veered in from the left. I never saw the car. Just felt the impact,
heard the scream of metal, smelled the burning tires. Spinning, spinning, until
my eyes focus on her face. Her forehead against the glass. Her eyes closed. No
blood. She could be resting. Waiting. Sleeping.

But she’s not the one I think of
when I’m awake. Sometime between the dream and waking, the baby cries. By the
time they pulled me out of my car, there were sirens and staticky speakers. I
had stared at the woman’s face until they peeled open my door, crumpled and
frozen in place during my car’s determined effort to occupy the same space as
hers. I didn’t hear the baby that night. I didn’t know about her until the
first day in court.

When I’m asleep, I dream about her
momma. When I’m awake, I think about her. All the things she won’t have that I
did. After that night. My family abandoned me. I made her momma abandon her.

It’s not hard to stay sober in
prison. I’m in AA just the same. I’m still trying to wrap my head around
restitution. What can I ever do to make it right for that baby?

#

Note:

I guess that’s all I’ve got
tonight. A coworker had a shocking day – a childhood friend’s mother was killed
by a drunk driver on her way home from work yesterday. And in the middle of
thinking how awful for that family and friends, I can’t help thinking what it
must be like for the person who has to live with that for the rest of their
life.

Jarram sat cross-legged beside the
throne, the queen’s hand resting on his fool’s cap. He never looked up at her
or spoke. She felt the slightest nod of his head, up and down, or side to side.
She never acknowledged his, his presence, his counsel. But he knew. He saw her
decisions, choices, actions.

He’d been there so long, some
might think he didn’t remember. Some might wonder why her fool was always
present. He knew. He remembered.

“Jarram?” The beautiful woman on
the throne leaned forward and motioned with her fingers. His grandmother pushed
him toward the throne. He clutched her hand, but she tugged it away and touched
his chin, encouraging him without words to be brave and strong.

He climbed up the steps and stood
in front of the throne. The woman leaned down to look him in the eyes. “You
have a special gift, don’t you, Jarram? I’d like you to share that gift with
me.”

He frowned and started to turn
back to his grandmother. Then he remembered what she had said about this woman,
this queen, and he stood as tall he could, facing her. “Why?”

She laughed once and leaned back in
the chair. “Because I asked you to. You never need another reason. But if you do,
here is a very important one I want you to always remember.”

She leaned forward and gripped his
shoulder, spinning him around. A soldier stepped behind his grandmother and
thrust his short sword through her back, until the blade shone and glinted red in
front of her. She kept her eyes on Jarram and made no sound as she fell. The
soldier pulled out his blade and wiped it on her cloak before sheathing it and
stepping away.

“If you need another reason,
Jarram,” the queen said in his ear, “my soldiers can go back to your village
and bring all of your family here.”

He shook his head side to side,
hating her more than anything he could imagine. It kept the grief at bay.

Her hand on his shoulder turned
him around. “Clever boy. Now, come and sit beside me. We have work to do.”

Jarram sat cross-legged on the
stone floor beside her. He watched the people walking toward them. As they came
closer, he dropped his head forward, listening to their thoughts. She rested
her hand on his head…

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Favorite Quotes

You have to start somewhere in order to end up somewhere good!~Margaret S. McGraw

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Be kind, be brave, be fierce, be love.~Laura Anne Gilman

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Some things in life cannot be fixed. They can only be carried.~Megan Devine

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Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines, sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover. ~Mark Twain

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Keep your feet on the ground and keep reaching for the stars. ~Casey Kasem

When opportunity puckers up, lean in for a smooch. Only a fool tells the angels to come back tomorrow.~Steven Barnes

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Be kind whenever possible. It is always possible.~ Dalai Lama

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We’re fools whether we dance or not, so we might as well dance.~ Japanese proverb

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No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted.~ Aesop

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Everything flows, nothing stays.~ Heraclitus

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Balance, always a balance. Work to give life purpose, play to lift the heart, music to soothe the spirit, love to give one strength. One cannot ask for more.~ Pelzmantel, K.A. Laity

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Be kinder than necessary, for everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle.~ 1st part paraphrased from J.M. Barrie, author of Peter Pan; 2nd part from either Plato or (more likely) Philo of Alexandria

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If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish ulterior motives... be kind anyway

If you are successful, you will win some false friends and some true enemies... succeed anyway

If you are honest and frank, people may cheat you... be honest and frank anyway

What you may spend years building, someone may destroy overnight... build anyway

If you find serenity and happiness, people may be jealous... be happy anyway

The good you do today, people will often forget tomorrow... do good anyway

Give the best you have, and it may never be enough... give the best you have anyway ~ Mother Teresa